Dragon tales, the Race to Cowes edition

I have got to confess that after racing 2800 miles across the Atlantic, contemplating a post-finish race from the Lizard (who comes up with these names?!) to Cowes is the very definition of anti-climatic. But here we are, gluttons for sailing.

The wind continues from the southwest and in the mid to high teens so we are deep running down the Channel. First a long hitch towards France, now coming back into toward Exeter and taking some shelter from the famous channel tides. In about an hour or less, we will gybe over towards Portland Bill (again, with the names?!) and will hopefully hit that tide gate around dawn. Then into the Solent and on to our reward in the form of a delicious lager. And shower.

Given the lovely weather, we caught a bare glimpse of land today. First a rock outcropping and light house at the Scilies. Then the outline of the headlands of the Lizard through the fog and mist. Now I can see the lights of Dartmouth.

But even if I can not see land, I can smell it. After 12 days at sea, you realize that your daily life on this planet has a smell. It smells of earth, of dirt and green things. It smells good.

Michael Hennessy